A Good Listener
by Spense
Summary: Sometimes rescues aren't public and flashy, sometimes they are quiet and between family members.


**A Good Listener**

**by Spense**

"International Rescue, how may I assist you?" The voice of International Rescue came over the line, in the calm, reassuring, tones of John Tracy.

The tenor of the voice, the assurance, and the competence, just said 'John' to a battered a bruised Alan Tracy. "John?" Alan's own voice, on the other hand, was rather shaky and unsteady.

The voice on the other end of the line sharpened rapidly. "Alan?" Up on Thunderbird 5, John sat up straighter, taking his gaze from the restful stars, and concentrated more on the person on the other end. "Is that you?"

A pause, then a barely breathed, 'Yeah."

When nothing more was said, John could feel the hairs on the back of his neck rising. Not good. This was not good at all. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he managed to ask "Are you all right?" in a voice that showed none of the panic that was beginning to build, and not even a hint of the worry he was already feeling. Years of practice of directing horrifying situations from way up in space had honed the ability to sound calm and reassuring.

A short, barely heard, bitter laugh was heard, then gone. "No. No, I don't think so."

"Alan?" John asked again, softer, trying not to spook his youngest brother. As far as he knew, Alan was finishing the last of his NASA training at the Johnson Space Center in Houston, Texas, and should be home in a week or so to pick up the reins to his place in IR. When no answer came to his query, he asked again. "Alan? Where are you?"

Another long pause. "Not really sure."

Shit. Not good. Slowly, carefully, John asked "Do you want me to get Scott over to . . . ."

"NO!" A quick, firm, negative came back immediately, cutting John off mid-sentence.

John's abilities to triage emergencies, honed through years of experience with both rescues and brothers, were going to stand him in good stead tonight, he could tell. "Okay, so no Scott. Can I get somebody else to pick you up? I think Gordon might be . . ."

"NO!" Again he was cut off before he could finish..

John sighed to himself. Baby brother, you aren't making this easy. "Alan, you don't sound very good. I can't get down all that fast, so I can't come to you. So what can I do? Tell me what you need."

A bitter laugh. "A new life?"

John blinked. After a moment's pause, he spoke quietly, "Al? What's going on?" John could hear his own voice taking on the soothing tone he used when dealing with the upset and unsettled individuals embroiled in the most dire emergencies of their lives. Or little brothers.

When nothing was heard over the line except breathing (at least that sounded okay, even if nothing else did), John decided to start with the basics. "Alan, are you someplace safe?"

"Huh? Uh, yeah, I think so," Alan said, sounding surprised and somewhat unsure.

"Okay, let's start with that. Where are you?" John's fingers were dancing over the keyboard in front of him, opening and closing screens in a choreographed dance he'd preformed numerous times, honing in on his little brother's position.

But to his surprise, Alan answered. "Sitting in my car. Outside a dive of a tavern . . . Um . . .on the outskirts of Houston." A pause, then, suspiciously, "You aren't sending family out are you? Cause if you are, I'm leaving now!"

"Relax, Al, I'm not sending or alerting anybody, so just settle down," John soothed, his lightening fast fingers on the keyboard and darting eyes at odds with his tone.

"Good," Alan answered sullenly.

"Okay. So . . . were you drinking?" John asked, as neutrally as he could. He must have done well, because, to his surprise, Alan answered.

"Yeah. More than I should have, I guess. I mean, yes," the slightly incoherent reply came back.

"Have you been driving?" John asked carefully, working hard to keep up the neutrality.

"No," Alan answered, sounding more resigned than John had ever heard him. Something about the question seemed to make him sound even more disheartened.

John stilled his fingers on the keyboards, having pinpointed the location – right where Alan had said he was. A dive bar, outside Houston. But something about Alan's tone at his answer bothered him. "Alan?" He asked softly.

"Why can't I ever do anything right, John?" Alan finally burst out, his words coming in a flood. "I mean, I try. I try so dammed hard. But nothing ever works! I mean, you guys never get into trouble, but I can't seem to avoid it!"

"Whoa, whoa, easy there, Alan! What are you talking about?" John tried to break in, surprised at the sudden flow of words.

"I can't do it!" Alan's voice was desperate, slightly slurred. "I just can't! I do my best, but it's just not enough!"

"Easy now," John soothed, "Calm down, that's just the alcohol talking."

"No, it isn't! I'm the one Tracy who can't seem to manage to do anything right. I mean, just now, even you asked if I was drinking and driving. Like I would be that stupid."

Ah, John thought. That explained the resignation at the question. He didn't mention to his little brother that Alan had said he would leave if John sent family. Clearly, he wasn't planning on walking. But logic usually didn't have much to do with the thoughts of an intoxicated mind.

"Alan, that doesn't have anything to do with trust. I would have asked Scotty the same thing!"

Alan continued as though John hadn't spoken. "Dad is already disappointed in me. He always has been. He just waits for me to screw up and I've never disappointed him," Alan said with a sardonic snort of bitter laughter. "And now I'm going into IR. How long do you want to be before I mess up there as well?"

So that was what this was about. John's heart hurt for his youngest brother. "Oh, Alan," he said softly. "Dad isn't disappointed in you. None of us are," he reassured.

"Right," Alan snorted derisively. "So why do I only hear from them when I screw up?"

John knew immediately that by 'them', Alan meant Jeff and Scott, the two people whose opinion mattered most to Alan in the entire world.

Jefferson Tracy was a hard act to follow. Astronaut, one of the first to do a moon walk, self made business man, and founder and ultimate commander of International Rescue, he was the gold standard. His four oldest sons, Scott, Virgil, John himself, and Gordon, had all excelled in their chosen fields, seemingly leading as charmed lives as their father had. Even though Gordon had been in a near fatal Hydrofoil accident, he had made an unbelievably miraculous full recovery, and followed his brothers into International Rescue.

Five men, all blessed with talents in their individual fields, were tough to live up to. And of the five, Gordon was the only that moved his own drummer, and had no problems doing so. But even he had the golden touch of success glowing over his life. Then there was Alan.

Alan was the youngest. He was temperamental. He was impetuous. He was mercurial. He loved all things fast and risky. He was as different as his father and brothers as night from day. He was also as brilliant as the others and as athletically gifted. And he was by far the most insecure of any of them. Trying to follow in the footsteps of a brilliantly gifted and successful father, and four brothers that had succeeded without much obvious (to an outsider at least) effort, must seem to be an almost impossible feat.

And John did have to agree, Alan had never done anything the easy way. Ever. It just wasn't in his nature. He'd about driven his father to drink with his antics, and in college, finally possessed with a freedom from a highly disciplined father, and talented brothers, all of whom had watched him like a hawk, he'd made the most of the experience by having a high old time.

John was sure, that, according to Alan, the only time he felt he ever heard from his father or oldest brother was when he was in trouble, was correct. Scott often had to step into the parental role on behalf of his father, because of the many business and philanthropical interests Jeff was involved in forced him to be unavailable. But what John knew, that Alan did not, was that both Jeff and Scogtt were leary of praising Alan too effusively when things did go right, because of Alan's tendency to take all things to an extreme.

Trying to keep Alan on a straight, narrow path had proven not only difficult (if not impossible), but unbelievably trying. And try as they might, neither Jeff Tracy, nor Scott Tracy, was blessed with a very long fuse. And Alan had the ability to set them off just by looking at them, like as not. And Alan wasn't afraid to fight back. He'd go gleefully where Angels feared to tread. And taking on Jefferson Tracy was definitely not for the faint of heart. And Alan took that challenge on regularly.

But now, Alan was out of college, and was excelling in NASA training. Graduation was in a week, and the whole family would be there. And if a rescue call came in, at least Jeff and John would make it to the ceremony, while the others flew the Thunderbirds. They'd already worked this out to the last detail, although those having to stay back were not thrilled with the plan. The whole family couldn't wait. With Alan on full time as an IR Operative, the dream would be fulfilled. John knew that his father was counting down the days.

John sighed audibly. "Alan, I don't know what to tell you. Dad and Scott are bursting with pride right now. They can't wait to come to your graduation. NASA doesn't take training lightly, and Commander Andrews has had lots to say about you and how good you are. I know he calls Dad regularly just to gloat. Not officially, either. Just to tell Dad how well you're doing."

This time it was Alan's turn to sigh. "I wish they wouldn't come," he muttered, so softly it was almost inaudible.

"What?" John asked in astonishment. "Why? We can't wait. Dad's already reserved the restaurant for the dinner. And even if . . . business . . . interferes, Dad and I will be there for sure. Scott too if he can finagle it. But it's going to have to be a doozy of a rescue to make any of stay away."

Silence.

"Alan?" John asked cautiously. "What's going on?"

"I'm only graduating third in my class," Alan burst out. "We got our ranking today."

John laughed. "Only?! Geez, kid. What's the matter with you? That's terrific!"

Alan's anguish was clear in his soft reply. "But you and Dad both graduated first in your class."

John sobered. "Is that it? You feel like your failing because you didn't graduate first?"

The silence on the other end of the line was louder than words.

John ran his hand through his hair, organizing his thoughts. "First off, what we graduated is neither here nor there," he began.

"Yes it is!" Alan started only to be cut off by John.

"No, Alan, it isn't. Think about how many years it's been since Dad or I went through the training. The complexity and knowledge needed is exponentially higher. Unbelievably higher. In addition, the candidates are better. And you know that. You know how difficult it was to get selected, and what you went through. And don't even say that you think Dad and I pulled strings. You know that isn't true. If we had even tried, that would have disqualified you so fast you wouldn't believe it. You know Commander Andrews, and you heard Dad talking about the quality of applicants in your class. Frankly comparing my class to Dad's class, and both of our classes to yours, is like comparing apples and oranges."

The silence on the other end of the line was more thoughtful now.

"In addition to that, both Dad and I had NASA as our prime focus. So do most of the guys in your class. My degree, and most of those in your class is something space related. But you studied as both a mechanical and electronic engineer. THEN you decided to go to NASA. With everything you've been juggling? I'm really impressed that you're third. And I don't know that either Dad or I could have done as well in your class. Things have advanced so much, and NASA is looking for so much more now. Dad and I have talked about this a lot after you've mentioned things that you're learning. It's pretty unbelievable."

"So first off, I can't tell you how proud I am of you. And Dad will say the same thing. You know that. Don't you believe him?"

Silence again.

John said again, firmly, "So you don't believe Dad when he says he's proud of you? You think he's lying?"

"No-o," Alan said, trapped, and somewhat confused by this turn in the conversation. And frankly, the alcohol was clouding his brain somewhat.

"You don't sound convinced," John stated.

"But what about all the times I've screwed up?" Alan finally asked. "I mean tonight, I was so frustrated, I got into a fight at the bar."

John could help but laughing. "You think that will have anything to do with being proud of you for your ranking?"

"No, but he'd be disappointed at my lack of self-control."

"Kid, that's called blowing off steam. When you need self-control, you have it. You've proven that at NASA, and we've all seen you in action on rescues. Yes, Dad tries to educate you on when and where it's appropriate to blow off steam, and a fight in a bar probably isn't the best idea. But that's Dad's job as your parent. To raise you from a child to an adult knowing right from wrong, and to develop discernment in situations about the best course of action. That has nothing to do with whether he's proud of you or not!"

A longer, more thoughtful, silence this time.

John broke it. "Now, about your comment about being the only Tracy who screws up. You aren't. You just don't know about the times the rest of us have."

This time the silence had a sullen quality to it. John had to laugh to himself. That was Alan, through and through.

"So Scott almost didn't get into the Air Force because of the ass he made of himself at a party in college," John said conversationally.

This sparked a 'WHAT?" from Alan.

John grinned. He knew Alan hadn't heard this one, and launched into the story. That was followed by another about Virgil. Then back to Scott. And then one about their father. Then one about himself. And John continued telling the stories that he and his brothers had always tried to keep hidden in order to be a 'good example' to their youngest brother. Unfortunately, that had worked a little too well, as was clear by tonight's conversation. Alan was convinced he was in the minority because of his antics, rather than just following in a tried and true family tradition. By the time John finished, it was a few hours later, and Alan was laughing hysterically.

"Okay, kiddo, that's probably enough for tonight. You've got a couple of big days ahead of you. Sober enough now to drive back to the base?" John said lightly.

"Yup," Alan answered confidently, not offended this time. A pause. "Thanks, John."

There was a wealth of meaning in that phrase, and John understood all of it. "Anytime. Looking forward to graduation and having you home and on IR full time."

"Me too," came the heartfelt reply.

"Oh, and Alan?" He waited a moment until he had his little brother's undivided attention. "I am so proud of you."

A contented sigh. "Thanks, Johnny. You know, you're a really good listener."

John laughed. "I have lots of time on my hands, so it comes with practice. See you in a few days."

John signed off, and leaned back and looked at the stars, content to know that his brother was fine, and that he'd been able to help. Rescues weren't always about strangers, and they weren't always about physical action. Sometimes just listening was rescue enough.

~finis~


End file.
